As we know, Tradition amounts to little more than une recherche
du temps perdu. Any Guardian of Tradition who solemnly tore up their ticket
on witnessing Calixto Bieitos alleged desecration of El
barberillo de Lavapiés might do well to ponder this fact. Another
fact  that Bieitos production proved a huge hit with the
theatre-going public  may have been down to his detailed and imaginative
direction of a fine cast. It may also have been down to his teams
superlative choral, choreographic and production values. But it may conceivably
have been down to respect for De Larra and Barbieris work of art, a
respect going deeper than any mere Tradition.

Having said which, it was hard to see what all the fuss was about.
A dogs bad name is apt to hang him, but as with the La verbena de la
Paloma seen in Spain and at the Edinburgh Festival a few years back, by
Bieitos (or pan-European) standards this is a pretty conservative piece
of work, though beautifully executed and using the best modern theatrical
techniques. Outrageous costuming? Well, no. Aristocrats, Walloon Guards and
most of the rest are dressed in a conservative approximation of 18th century
period costume. Only Lamparilla with his eternally subversive leather jacket,
streetwise sidekick Lope and be-cardiganed Paloma link directly to our own time
 until the very end, where in a stunning coup de theatre the rotting
rat-warren of a set revolves, to reveal its stadium-like lattice of steel
supports festooned with the entire cast in 1980s gear, a tableau vivant
of Almodóvars Madrid, transvestites, addicts and all. Explicit
bodily functions? Well, of course there were a few of what ones great
aunts would have called Moments  including a spectacularly funny one when
a drunken and despairing Don Luis appears on an upper balcony and unwittingly
pukes, then pisses over the fleeing Marquesita.

Plenty of robust humour then, lots of anarchic activity, but
nothing much to frighten the horses. What then? Bieito cuts the dialogue
substantially, running all three acts into one unbroken span, but the narrative
is crystal clear and, like the musical content, unsullied. So that wasnt
it either. No, what causes the outrage is something subtler  a conscious
subversion of Tradition itself. Entering the auditorium we are presented with
the most traditional front cloth anyone could wish to see, a prettily executed
antique map of 18th century Madrid. No sooner does the music get under way,
though, when out pops Lope, a gangling juvenile delinquent in baseball cap and
sneakers, swigging from a can of Coke and as he runs his finger suggestively
round the map borders of Lavapiés, challenging the audience with that
knowing, irritating leer known only to hormonally over-active teenagers. Lope
 precisely judged by young actor Daniel Esparza  continues
to pop up throughout, an unsettlingly modern adjunct to that eternally
disruptive spirit of aimless mischief which de Larra and Barbieri capture so
well in their little barber himself. They, not Bieito, created this
world in which a change in regime amounts to no more than a change of suit,
where political cynicism is endemic, where only the irrepressible vitality of
the people keeps them from a terminal trampling.

In case all this sounds impossibly serious, I must emphasise again
how consistently light the production touch, how wonderfully engaging the
relationships between characters. It is left to us, the audience, to make the
connections. Ramón Ollers choreography is a telling mix of
jota, seguidillas and soft-shoe shuffle. Francisco Maestres
slobbering pervert of a Don Pedro comes close to stealing the scene, but
Beatriz Lanzas Paloma, Julio Morales Don Luis and
Elena Riveras Marquesita are equally vivid. Bieito is never
prepared to let his singers merely stand and deliver, and Rivera and
Morales Act 2 dúo is a fluid and alive piece of staging, political
and sexual frustrations mixed in an explosive outburst of credible passion. No
praise can be too high for Marco Moncloas Lamparilla. The part
lies high for his smoothly-produced baritone, but his imaginative delivery of
music and text are as compelling as his acting, which is saying something.
Lanza is not quite at his level, vocally, and there is something of a
pronounced beat these days to her warm but not ideally supported
mezzo. Theatrically, though, she easily holds her own. The end is movingly
quiet. Left alone on stage at last after the hectic maelstrom of activity, all
passion can finally be spent between Paloma and her barber-lover. The lights
fade to black and we tactfully leave them to it.

For most of the audience this was a memorable Barberillo,
thoughtful and hugely entertaining. De Larra was no literary genius but a
talented, visionary man of his time; and departing from the letter of his text
has allowed Bieito to recapture its spirit for ours. In doing so he provides
the best possible setting for the drama proper  that provided by the
music. The director clearly believes that Barbieris most popular zarzuela
is no frail old lady, but a lusty piece of goods strong enough to stand on her
own feet without concession to cortesía or Good Taste. He pushes
the envelope, certainly, but does so with a trusting commitment which
re-engages us in a masterpiece of music theatre, vibrant, funny, tuneful and
with a social thrust which has lost surprisingly little of its cutting edge. In
an evening as good as this, anyone coming to El barberillo de
Lavapiés for the first time without prejudice, could not fail to be
excited. That, my Lord Guardians, is the only Tradition really worth
preserving, and Calixto Bieito has done just that.